The Tax Collector (GirlxIntersex) Book 1

Chapter 15

Chapter 15
Valentino POV

My thoughts couldn't stop racing to Lucia and what she may be doing. My fingers would occasionally want to phone Garcia to check on her, but my work got in the way. Usually, I don't mind being busy and hard at work. Whether it was pointing my gun at someone's head for late payments, breaking down the doors of a commercial place, or just skinning someone alive.

However, today I could feel the weight of my workload crushing me.

"Are you still mad about yesterday?"

"No,"

"And you are dry..."

As we approached the clothes store, Reaper lifted his jacket and pulled out his revolver. "You don't have to be this edgy." I muttered.

"Well, you're the one who advises don't trust anyone. Have you seen how everyone seems to be failing this month?"

"That's because we know we're going to rob them. If they wish to fail, then so be it. Next month, we will visit this shop. Robbing it of everything, and I mean everything."

I quickly stopped the car and hopped out. Reaper was my eyes, ears, and lips. We both stepped into the business and flipped the sign that said it was closed. We used the lock to secure it.

I approached the checkout. She nodded when she noticed us and headed in the direction of her employer, Mark. She returned to her post.

"Business is sluggish."

"Where is he? This doesn't concerned you."

"He's coming."

I looked at Reaper and gestured for him to look around. He nodded and began a covert search for all the ins and outs, as well as the locations of all the cameras.

I'll confess that stealing a store wasn't simple as robbing, men like Martinez. A shop has too many technological troubles.

Mark's sluggish form staggered out of the room, holding a duffel bag. But by the time he'd crept up to the counter, Reaper was back at my side, his rifle drawn.

"Is that all?" I asked

Mark looked anxiously at the clerk.

"Beatrice, could you please go to the rear and pack out a few garments on the rack at the door? The racks are looking a bit empty."

Beatrice's eyes widened as she saw Reaper holding the gun. Her body fled to the rear, but her gaze stayed on us.

"Well?"

"It's a short 5. Things have been sluggish. A new clothing store has opened within two minutes' walk from here."

My eyebrows furrowed. A new clothes store?

"What's their name?" I asked Mark. "Get out the list..." I motioned towards Reaper. He removed the paper from the side of his jacket.

I turned back to a nervous Mark. "The name, don't let me get my pistol out."

"It's called. The Try-ons." He choked out.

"It's only been open for a month, but everyone seemed to gravitate there, and I've heard the prices are cheaper."

"I don't give fuck." From hearing the name, I know it wasn't on the piece of paper. It wouldn't. The Trapz would remain unaware of it, but ultimately, it would fall upon me and the other to collect taxes.

"The address."

Reaper aimed his gun at him. He stepped away from the counter and headed directly to the door, which looked out across the street. "Yo-you just, drive down the road and there it is." He pointed to the store.

"Well, I suppose we know where our next destination is, Reaper."

He nodded.

"You want to tell us why you are short five?"

"The store doesn't bring in as much as it used to. I was considering incorporating specific drugs into the business."

I looked around the apparent apparel store. Clothes and drugs did not mix. However, Reaper and I did encourage them to do everything it needed to ensure that the boss guy received his money on time.

"Whatever you need to do. Even if you have to prostitute your mother out."

Reaper stares at me. "It's just how the business works." I said. I looked at the garment hanging on the shelf and immediately thought of Lucia.

I began walking around the stores, randomly grabbing a few garments from the racks. I did not take up much, but just till I had time to take her shopping.

"Bag them up." I spoke to the cashier.

"Aren't you going to pay for them?"

I pulled out my gun, and she raised her hand in terror. "Bag the fucking crap up now."

"Yes, ma'am." Her shaky hand reached for a bag and started packing the clothing inside. When she finished, I grabbed the bag from her. I rested my gun against her quivering lips.

"If you want to make it in this neighborhood of Los Angeles, I advise you see, but stay blind, hear, but be deaf, and also do what you're fuckin' told, right?" I turned to face Mark. "Teach her the path, won't you?"

"What is your problem?" Reaper gave a snarl. "He should pimp his mom out, but you nearly blew my brains out in your car this morning by mentioning something about the bitch you had back home."

I flung the bag to the rear and grabbed him by the collar in one rapid action.

"Lucia is not a part of the fuckin business. She does not own shit. She is only an innocent girl, and she will be treated as such until that time. They came into this company, therefore they will do whatever it takes."

"That money you stole last night..."

"What about it?"

"I'm sure some of the money came from Martinez, pimping out your innocent girl."

"And he died. And she's with us. So in the end, I make things right. Now shut the fuck up and get in the vehicle, punk."
***********
"I don't know how we don't see this store when we literally pass by it virtually every day."

If Reaper had any understanding of geographic location, he would have known that a little yogurt store was the first business there. Nothing changes save the business sign; not even the building's paint job. Everything remains the same. So, how could we have observed anything different?

These parts of Los Angeles were populated by gangs and drug dealers, who were also required to pay a portion to the Trapz.
Reaper and I dominate this side of Los Angeles, which extends 200 miles into Mexico. Allowing this to pass us by would put us on poor terms with the boss.

The doorbell, chimes when the door opened, we entered.

It didn't appear that the business was growing, as Mark stated, and I believe he is lying to avoid paying his full cut.

As I looked around, I only noticed one cashier at the desk and two shop staffers. I didn't see the boss, but I believed he was around.

"Can I assist you, Ma'am?"

The clerk gently inquired; she was a red-haired girl. She remains me of my ex-girlfriend, only a tad bit thicker in body.
Unlike other stores, she wore what appeared to be a uniform, consisting of a blouse with the company's circular emblem and a dark blue skirt.

"A matter of fact you can. We want to talk with the boss."

Her smile faded. "Have you have any problems?"

"We don't, but I need your boss."


"I'm sorry, but he isn't in."

It was a method they all utilized. The supervisor normally has a policy that allows the workers to handle everything while they remain on the back line. Not today. "Let me try it again..." I pull out my gun and place it at her side. She gasped and was going to glance down, but I stopped her. "There's no need to look; it's a gun, and sure, I'll pull the trigger, which may kill you. Now let's try it again. I'd like to talk to the fucking boss."

She nodded and was ready to walk away when I grabbed her. "You stay here. Tell the cashier to bring the boss to us."
She gave a nod, her eyes welling up with tears. "Wipe it!" I insist. She immediately wipes the tears away. "Now smile, and ask the cashier to send the boss to us." I carefully twisted her body in the direction of the checkout. I position myself behind her, with the gun now aimed at her spine.

"Talk."

"Mary, could the boss come out here?"

Mary gazed at us. "Can't you handle it?"

The redhead shook her head. "It is really crucial."

She walked from the counter up the store's staircase. She eventually returned, accompanied by the boss. The clerk pointed over where we were. He grinned as he approached us.

"Welcome to The Try On; how may I assist you?" His heavy English accent suggested that he was from someplace in Europe. I'd say from Poland or Iceland.

I pulled the girl to the side and aimed the rifle at him. He swiftly raises his hands in the air. However, Reaper swiftly returned to his side and placed it back down.

"We don't want to generate any panic."

"Please...the money is in the cash register; it is all I have."

"We don't want your money today."

He looked at both Reapers and I, all bewildered. "Then, what do you guys want?"

I raised my shirt's sleeves. "The Trapz rule this region of the Los Angeles area, which thankfully includes your business."

"No...No. I acquire the shop from the previous owner."

"You own the business, but if you want to stay here and sell your small clothing and makeup, I recommend you pay your taxes to The Trapz." You're off this month, but we'll be back next month. Make sure the cash register is producing $20,000."

"20000!" He shouted. "Please... we just opened."

"Not our problem. Either the 20 or you die; choose your poison; you have 29 days."

He gave a stiff nod.

"Reaper let go."